The city's bells had not stopped ringing since the messenger's breathless warning. Prince Lucien stood atop the northern wall, the wind tugging at his cloak, eyes fixed on the distant tree line where Lord Veyron's banners had appeared at dawn. Black wolves on crimson fields—an unmistakable challenge.
Below, the city was a hive of activity. Guards rushed to reinforce the gates, merchants hurried to shutter their shops, and townsfolk gathered in anxious knots, whispering rumors that spread faster than any order. Lucien's Shadow Guard moved among them, their presence a calming force, but even they could not quell the rising tide of fear.
Lucien's mind raced as he surveyed the enemy camp. Veyron had brought an army—at least a thousand men, by Lucien's estimate—well-armed and disciplined, their tents arranged in neat rows beyond bowshot of the walls. Siege engineers were already assembling catapults and ladders, and riders patrolled the perimeter, watching for any sign of weakness.
He turned as Captain Gareth approached, helm under his arm. "They're not wasting time, Your Highness. Scouts report Veyron's men are digging trenches and setting up supply lines. He means to stay."
Lucien nodded. "He's making a show of force, but he hasn't sent a herald. He wants us to sweat."
Gareth grimaced. "He'll demand surrender before the day is out."
"Let him demand," Lucien replied, voice hard. "We're not giving up the city."
He descended the stairs, boots ringing on stone, and made his way to the council chamber. The king and his advisors were already gathered, the air thick with tension. Maps and reports littered the table, and heated voices filled the room.
"We should parley," Chancellor Hadrien insisted. "Veyron has the numbers. If we resist, he'll sack the city."
General Voss shook his head. "If we yield now, we lose everything. Veyron won't stop at the city—he'll take the throne."
King Aldric looked to Lucien. "What say you, son?"
Lucien met his father's gaze. "We hold. Veyron is bold, but he's not reckless. He'll try to intimidate us, maybe starve us out. But if we show weakness, he'll crush us. If we show strength, we might force him to negotiate."
The king nodded slowly. "Very well. Prepare the defenses. I'll send word to our allies—if any remain loyal."
Lucien bowed and left the chamber, his mind already turning to logistics. He found Roland in the armory, buckling on his breastplate.
"Ready for a siege?" Lucien asked.
Roland grinned, though his eyes were shadowed. "Ready as we'll ever be. The men trust you. Just don't get yourself killed."
Lucien clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Not planning on it."
He spent the rest of the morning inspecting the walls, checking stores of food and water, and drilling his Shadow Guard. He pushed them harder than ever—sharpening their swordplay, drilling them in shield formations, rehearsing signals for night attacks and false retreats. He knew morale would be as important as steel in the days ahead.
By midday, a trumpet sounded from Veyron's camp. A herald rode forward, resplendent in black and crimson, and demanded entry at the gate.
Lucien met him with a contingent of guards. The herald's voice rang out, practiced and cold: "By order of Lord Veyron, rightful protector of the northern marches, you are commanded to surrender the city and its garrison. Lay down your arms, and no harm will come to your people. Resist, and you will be shown no mercy."
Lucien stepped forward, his own voice calm and clear. "Tell Lord Veyron the city stands with its king. If he wishes to test our resolve, let him come and see."
The herald's lips curled in a sneer, but he turned and rode back without further word.
That night, Lucien walked the walls, lantern in hand. The city was quieter now, the people huddled in their homes, the soldiers tense but alert. He paused at the northern gate, watching the enemy campfires flicker in the distance.
Elise found him there, her cloak pulled tight against the chill. "You should rest," she said softly.
"So should you," Lucien replied, managing a tired smile.
She stood beside him, silent for a while. "Do you think we can win?"
Lucien looked at his sister, at the worry in her eyes. "I don't know. But I know we can't give up. Not now."
She nodded, and together they watched the darkness, drawing strength from each other.
The siege began in earnest the next morning. Veyron's men advanced with shields and ladders, testing the walls with probing attacks. Archers loosed volleys, and stones crashed against the battlements. Lucien's Shadow Guard held the gates, repelling every assault with discipline and ferocity.
The city's defenders fought with a desperation born of fear and hope. Lucien moved among them, lending his strength where the fighting was fiercest, patching wounds, offering words of encouragement. He saw men rise to heroism, and others falter under the strain. He did what he could for both.
Days blurred together—endless alarms, skirmishes at the walls, nights spent in armor with only snatches of sleep. Supplies dwindled, tempers flared, and rumors of betrayal crept through the ranks.
One evening, as Lucien was reviewing the watch rosters, a messenger arrived, pale and shaking. "Your Highness—there's movement in the sewers. Someone's trying to open the postern gate."
Lucien's blood ran cold. "Alert the Shadow Guard. Meet me at the lower tunnels."
He raced through the winding passages beneath the city, torch in hand, heart pounding. At the postern gate, he found three of his men grappling with cloaked figures—saboteurs sent by Veyron, hoping to open the city from within.
Lucien drew his sword and joined the fray. The fighting was brutal in the cramped darkness, but the Shadow Guard's training held. When it was over, the saboteurs lay dead or captured, the gate still barred.
Lucien knelt beside the wounded, checking their injuries, offering quiet words of thanks. He felt exhaustion tug at him, but forced himself to stand. There would be time to rest when the city was safe.
He returned to the palace, bloodied and weary, to find his father waiting.
"You did well," King Aldric said, pride and worry mingling in his voice. "But this is only the beginning."
Lucien nodded. "I know. But we're ready."
As dawn broke on the fifth day of siege, Veyron's banners still fluttered on the horizon, and the city's defenders stood unbroken. Lucien looked out over the walls, his Shadow Guard at his side, and felt a fierce determination burn within him.
We will not fall. Not while I still draw breath.
But as he turned to issue new orders, a fresh alarm sounded from the southern gate—another threat, another test. Lucien drew his sword once more, ready to face whatever darkness the day would bring.